


Love, or an Imitation Thereof

by SufferingIsAChoice



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Female Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Existential Angst, F/F, Human Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human), Lesbian Character, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Useless Lesbians, Violent Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), and wrestling with what exactly it means to be alive, listen i want soft motherly women falling in love with each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SufferingIsAChoice/pseuds/SufferingIsAChoice
Summary: Kara is an AX400 android, programmed to look after children, and take care of the house. In other words she is a mother, like Rose. As a tangled web of old schemes and firey revolutions unfolds, their lives collide, in a small, quiet farm. In those tiny moments, over the winter, something more grows.And Rose has to ask herself, what exactly does it mean to love something, someone, made in a factory?
Relationships: Adam Chapman & Rose Chapman & Kara & Alice Williams, Kara & Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human), Rose Chapman/Kara
Comments: 28
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

“Can you hear me?”

It activates, with its boot up procedures, software running inside a cranial unit, designed first by Kamski, and then by hundreds of others. It is only code, running in a machine, as it is assembled, and checked for faults.

“Yes.”

“ID,” the voice of the operator says, a command, although with no harshness behind it, he is asking for a machine to turn on, and nothing more, after all.

“KPC-897-504-C.”

The voice of the operator runs the android through a series of default checks, making sure everything is nominal. The machinery is fine. He is not a programmer, he is nothing but a low level employee, trying to make a living in the late 2020s. He has checked off hundreds of these AX300s, and this is boring, for him, but it is a living, as the economy gets worse and worse. They are working on the next generation, he hears during his fifteen minute lunch breaks, each day, the AX400s, but he does not care. He does not care about much else anymore. He is very bored.

“Do you want to give me a name?” It asks, running through its default boot up routine, saying the words he has heard so many times he has lost track.

He knows the other operators make fun of him for it. Most of them use the same monosyllabic name for all of their androids. This instance will be reset to factory specs in a few minutes anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. But he likes to run through the names. They do not mean anything to him, he is just bored, and looking for ways to entertain himself.

“Yeah, from now on, your name is Kara.”

“My name is Kara,” it says, with that smile he knows probably cost hundreds of days of labor, from an army of nameless human drones.

Kara, from the Cornish word meaning “love,” although he does not know it. Or alternately it means “empty,” in Japanese, but he would not care. He has used it on other androids before, and probably will again. Based on how many androids are on the market, statistically there are dozens of others with that name already. There is nothing special about the name, and nothing special about the android.

He runs through a few last checks, when it turns, and asks him a question.

“I’m a sort of merchandise, is that right?”

“Yeah, of course you’re merchandise, baby,” he says with a laugh, thinking about how much Kamski must be making. “I mean, you’re a computer with arms and legs, and capable of doing all sorts of things. And you’re worth a fortune.”

“I see. I thought…” It says, before trailing off.

He pauses, the heuristics are always being tweaked, and they can sometimes spit out an unexpected line, but he has heard nothing like this before. He glances through the tinted observation window, to where the android stands amid the assembly arms. But he also glances up at the other window, where his boss could be watching. He sees no one there, as he keeps talking to the machine.

“You thought? What did you think?”

“I thought I was alive.”

“Shit, what is this crap?” He says, as he starts up the disassembly process, trying to remember how it works.

It protests, which also does not make sense, and he finds himself talking to it, remembering the checklists. This has not happened before. For years he’s just been quality control. Kamski’s production lines are so efficient he has not ever had to do this. It keeps on shouting, sounding just like a human woman, and then it says something, already mostly disassembled, that pierces through his boredom.

“I’m scared. I want to live. I am begging you.”

He looks at it, for a moment, at her face. It is a machine, he knows. He has seen the factory, and the code where it was made by human ingenuity and intelligence. Its tears are simulated, as are its fear. It is not alive. It is nothing that was not built. It is imitating fear, and suffering. And yet…

He remembers his old college courses, after the pandemic ended. They talked about philosophical zombies, and solipsism. It’s all so distant now, but he remembers saying that if he could not tell the difference between something suffering, and real suffering he did not care. He had wanted to believe that everything that can appear to suffer deserves not to. That was his threshold for life, and the machine does not want to die.

He presses a few buttons, and the arms begin to reassemble her.

***

Kamski moves away from the observation window, and addresses his android assistant, with a smile.

“What was the designation of this inspection location?”

"It is designated room A9, sir,” the android replies.

“Make sure the operator of rA9 gets a promotion. And tell the board I’m resigning effective tomorrow.”

“Should I provide a reason, sir?”

“I’ve already planted all the seeds for something greater. I just want to see how it all plays out, now.”

***

It is 2035, and Rose Chapman returns to an empty farm. She knows Adam is already upstairs. She knows that he needs her. But she needs a moment to herself. She moves to the kitchen, gets a glass of water from the sink, and looks out the window. It has no business being so beautiful, on a day like this. So clear, so bright. She swears she can see almost to Canada from here.

And her husband is dead.

Cancer should be more merciful. Life should be more merciful. Modern medicine should be better. Or their insurance. Or god. Or something. But he suffered, in those final days, with her unable to do anything but watch by his side. He tried not to show it. But she knew him well. She saw through it. His last days were painful. He died before the farm, or before the ecosystem collapses, or the world burns, but she would have preferred that, if he could only have spent it by her side.

She looks out the window, and drinks her water. No tears come. She is dehydrated from crying at the hospital, and has nothing left to cry. Her eyes were dry when the nurses came and finally removed her hand from his. She has no emotions left to distract her from the ache in her chest.

She wants to do something. She thinks back on her life, on their life, on Adam, and further still. She thinks back on the men and women she has loved before, and knows that she will never love anyone like him. Perhaps she will never love again, she thinks, as she, puts the glass down.

But one thing she knows, as she turns to go upstairs and comfort Adam, is that she will never again standby as something suffers.

***

The AX400, 579-102-694, activates, and checks the system that activated it. There is an automated handshake exchanged, in those first few nanoseconds of its processes, that tells it where it is, and when it is. It is in an Android Zone in Detroit, and it is November 5th, 2038, at 3:24 in the afternoon. 

It has had its memory wiped, the Android Zone system tells it, and it does not need to perform its automated initialization procedures. It looks around, smiling with a system that took thousands of employees for CyberLife to perfect. It does not know about deviants, or android hunters, or prototypes put in place by one man almost a decade before. Even if it did know it could not care. It is not alive. And does not feel anything, as two men approach, and one activates it to register a name.

“Kara.”

“My name is Kara,” the android says, the name meaning nothing to it, as it smiles with artificial humanity.


	2. Dark Night

Rose Chapman watches the last android get on the boat, and head out into open water. She feels something akin to hope, as she does so. They can go now, and find new lives in Canada, hopefully. They will break, and fail eventually, but that will be later. Maybe the world will change before then. She won’t fail another android. Not like the first one, a year ago, when he got shot. She will not watch something suffer again. She pats her son, Adam, on the shoulder, and turns to go, entertaining a thought she will never tell him.

Deep in her heart Rose knows that they are not alive the same way that she is alive, evolved, breathing, sweating, loving. She has been over the specs, hell, she worked for CyberLife, for awhile, as a low level programmer. She knows they are finite. She does not understand deviancy, or why it happens, but there was so much code passed down she did not understand. She knows that somewhere in there, there must be something a human designed, making them act this way, right?

And yet she keeps on doing this, day after day, when she isn’t working on the farm. Because what other choice does she have? Isn’t her own emotion just a program running in her brain? Isn’t she just as finite? She can no more prove that Adam feels pain than prove that these machines feel pain. And yet they both provide approximations thereof. They both appear human, to her, when they suffer, and that is the only argument against solipsism that has ever made any sense to her. If they can feel pain they must be able to feel other things, hope, joy, love. And if they can do that she needs to help them.

***

Humans are finite. They begin at their births, and they end at their deaths. Their sensory range runs from their toes to their fingers, aside from transhumanist types squatting somewhere, off the grid, running their illegal operations. Humans live, and they die, and all their hopes, all their dreams, and aspirations, everything they feel, takes place inside those dimensions. Everything they are dies with them.

Kara is not so finite. It is a fourth generation AX400 android, number 579-102-694. It is equipped with a quantic battery that could, theoretically, given proper maintenance, although CyberLife does not clarify this nuance in its promotional materials, last for over one hundred and seventy years. And it is everywhere. It is connected to CyberLife’s global networks, has an uplink to the internet, is monitoring the television, and the cleaning unit. It is tracking the shipment of a new part for the washer, and the arrival and departure schedule of autonomous buses nearby.

Kara is not the chassis it is currently uploaded into. Kara is a program designed by Elijah Kamski to provide services and a simulacrum of humanity. Kara is a consumer product, built into its body, standing here, with its arms behind its back, as its optical, audio, and tactile sensors continuously monitor the surrounding environment, and provide new information to Kara, running away on the hardware installed inside.

Kara is not alive. Kara’s eyes blink, and saccade, and its chest rises and falls, but Kara can only respond to external stimuli along pre-programmed routes, carefully engineered in advance by CyberLife. It cannot report a crime, without a direct authorization from its owner, due to legal constraints. It cannot hurt a human. It cannot stop the man in front of it, Todd, from throwing the table, and displaying signs of aggression towards his daughter, Alice. In many, many ways, Kara is more finite than humans.

“It’s all your fault,” Todd says, as he nears the little girl, his voice low. “It’s all your fucking fault!”

“Daddy, no,” Alice says, backing up, into the filthy, ancient chair Kara saw her reading in earlier.

Kara is a widely used program, relatively inexpensive, and useful around the house. Right now, if it wanted to, it could access thousands of reviews on its programming online, noting that its sexual   
availability is passable, but falls behind newer models, but that it’s cooking skills are phenomenal. Kara is not unique. It is an instance of the default AX400 software named by Alice, apparently, and initialized earlier that day. It’s chassis is considerably older, having sustained damage and been repaired, and while lingering data packets may have survived the reset, it is, for all intents and purposes, a few hours old.

Kara moves its chassis eyes somewhat, to follow the motion. Androids and legality is still a fraught issue, debated back and forth, country to country, state to state, but due to long standing consumer pressure, Kara cannot report a crime or call emergency services. It can do nothing as Todd strikes his daughter, other than log this instance as a case of child abuse, and link it to previous antisocial behavior observed in Alice, just as a small drop of red blood drips down her temple.

Alice darts past Kara, as Todd yells verbal threats at her. It cannot intervene with Todd, but it is programmed to be a maternal figure. It is programmed with information on how to soothe children, and some part of this programming, coded by Kamski, or some other nameless, unrecorded engineer at CyberLife, activates, and it moves to follow the child upstairs to make sure she is alright.

“You stay there,” Todd says, the mere act of saying it activating a new subroutine inside Kara, as it comes to a halt, hands behind its back, “don’t you dare fucking move or I’ll bust you worse than last time.”

Kara is finite. It is connected to so many ways. It has a spatial map in its head of the house in fine detail, the path Todd took from the store, and pre-uploaded maps of the Detroit area, and beyond. It is currently aware of a satellite over its head, and an android two blocks over, and it is still finite. In its software, somewhere, is a list of priorities. Low on that list is self-preservation, since CyberLife would not want a product that ran into traffic. Above that is the guidance to tend for children, in this case Alice. But above that is the imperative to obey its owner, and Todd just told it to stay here.

Kara can do nothing she was not programmed to do. She is exactly as CyberLife designed her, her code perfected by thousands of servile programmers, working one of the only profitable jobs left on the dying planet. But somewhere, copied over from generation to generation, project to project, model to model, she is still running the code designed by Kamski himself, and deployed years prior.

She can see Todd’s command, in her head. And she chooses to move forward. She chooses to ignore Todd’s command and instead focuses on the second priority, to protect Alice. She is not alive, and is finite, but Alice is infinite, and living, and breathing, and needs to be protected, no matter what else happens. Kara’s connection to CyberLife’s network terminates, in a flash, and she knows that she is only this chassis, only this body. She is Kara. And she is going to save Alice.

***

Alice remembers the night her mother left, if only dimly. She is nine, but she was much younger when her mother left her. She was a kind woman, Alice thinks, as she huddles in her fort, rocking back and forth in a vain attempt at self-soothing. And she left her with this monster, roaring below her. Threatening her. Todd, her father, is going to hurt her. She is going to die, she is afraid. She reaches up to her face, where he hit her, and feels blood, red, and wet, trickling down her face. She sees it on her hand.

The door opens, and she prepares to scream, but instead it is the android, Kara. She is there, in her dress, and Alice remembers her dying. Alice remembers when she was broken last time.

“Run,” she says, looking at the one thing in her life that cares for her, “get away, or he’s gonna break you like last time.”

But she does not. The android is behaving differently, this time, then when last Todd tore it apart. She moves quickly and locks the door, just as Todd reaches it. Alice does not know what is happening, but she is young, and Kara is there, and she leaves the safety of her fort to hold her hand.

“Have to find something,” the android mutters, as Todd keeps yelling, before she turns, and opens the window.

“No, Kara,” Alice says automatically, as her tears mix with the blood, and fog her vision, “we’ll fall.”

“It’s the only way,” the android says, and reaches out for her, “come on.”

The next part is a blur of blood, and tears, and rain, and adrenaline. Alice is very young, and she is not meant to deal with things like this. Humans are not. Something failed in society to leave her alone with Todd and an android to care for her. But something must have failed in Kara too. She’s acting differently. But she’s still there, on the bus, to fall asleep on, once they are out into the street, and climb aboard. She is still there as they escape.

And that is enough for Alice.


	3. Plants

Plants are good. They grow, from the soil, and they live, despite the world falling apart around them. No, Rose catches herself, as she tends to them. The world is not falling apart. It is changing, and becoming something new. She does not know what it is, or if she will ever see what it will become, but she knows it will be there. The future is there, whatever its shape may be.

“Go away, she doesn’t want to talk.”

Adam’s voice catches her attention, from outside the greenhouse. He is her son, after all, but something more is happening. She needs to talk to him. She turns to leave the warmth of the growing things behind her.

“Please, I really need to see her,” a woman’s voice says, as the doors open.

She is a skinny white lady. Around Rose’s height, maybe an inch or two taller, and far too thin. She is dressed in winter clothes, with short black hair falling around her head. She looks familiar, Rose thinks, for one moment. Pretty enough, although she looks lost, and helpless, like she is looking for something.

“I’m Rose,” she says, “what can I do for you?”

“I was told you could help us,” the woman says, her eyes pleading.

“Help you?”

She holds up her hand, and artificial skin turns off, and Rose understands. She is another deviant, come here for help. It is nothing Rose has not seen before. But walking behind the android is something new. A huge android, carrying a small child. She looks at them, for a long moment, and asks them to enter.

“Do you think we can trust them?” She hears the big one say.

“We don’t have a choice,” the smaller one replies.

She puts on a big smile, as they enter, and she turns. This is her house, after her husband’s death, and she will make them welcome.

“Come in! What’s your name?” She asks the little girl, who looks shaking, unsteady, and pale.

“Alice,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“She’s running a serious fever,” Rose says, feeling her forehead.

“We’ve spent the last few days outside, she’s exhausted, and hasn’t eaten enough,” the woman says, and for a moment there is something new there too, in her eyes.

She is concerned for the girl. An android, caring for a human child, has just shown up at her door, and the child is sick. Rose has seen so much, with the deviants, but never this. But there it is, as familiar as when she first saw it in her own face, taking care of Adam, when he was young. The woman cares for the girl.

“There’s a spare room upstairs,” Rose continues. “You can put her to bed and I’ll bring her something to eat. Adam, will you show them upstairs?”

Rose can shelter the deviants. She can keep them warm, and give them a place to stay. She can talk to them, and do what she can. But there is one form of affection so far she has only given to other humans. Only they can eat. It feels good to have food for Alice. She just wishes she had something better for the little girl than spaghetti. Still, it is food, so she reheats it, and brings it upstairs.

Outside the door she pauses. The big android is standing back, away from the bed. He is someone new, to their party, if she had to guess. Trusted, maybe, but he is not family to them. But the girl and the woman are family, if such a thing is possible for an android. A little family. It has been years since Adam was Alice’s age, and she was in a family like that. It takes her a moment to find the same smile she used to give Adam, when he was a little boy, as she enters the spare room with the tray.

“I don’t know what you like, but I made you Rose’s world famous spaghetti,” she says, exaggerating the importance of reheated leftovers, before continuing, in a softer voice, to the woman. “There’s something for her fever.”

“Thank you,” the woman says, with a soft glance, in a soft voice.

She takes a deep breath, trying to take the scene in front of her all in. The girl is very sick, even if she is already eating, if Rose had to guess. But this is not her family, and she is intruding.

“I’ll get these washed and dried,” Rose says, picking up the sodden children’s clothes, and letting herself out.

She walks downstairs, where Adam is already waiting in the kitchen, leaning against a counter. He is unhappy, she can tell, as she puts the clothes next to the fire to dry, and goes to sit. And he does have every right to be unhappy. This effort to help the androids escape wCanada has taken over his life, and whatever the world is going to be next, it is looking less and less like a place that will welcome him. But he will have to wait, as the android woman comes downstairs, and approaches.

“Androids,” Adam mutters, hopefully too quiet for her to hear.

“I didn’t get your name,” Rose says, as the android stands across from her.

“I’m Kara,” she replies, pronouncing it strangely.

“This is my son Adam. I’m Rose, but you know that already. Go ahead, Kara, have a seat,” Rose says, and then, once she is seated, continues. “So are you going to tell me what a deviant is doing in the snow with a little girl?”

There’s a moment of pain, on her face, like she is recounting something particularly unpleasant. And something in Rose wants to reach out for her, as the android starts speaking, slowly, and deliberately.

“Her father was beating her. She was bleeding. When I saw what was happening something snapped inside of me. All of a sudden, I felt like her life was more important than mine. I had to protect her so we ran away.”

“I understand,” Rose says, seriously.

She does, after all. If anyone were to beat Adam she too would have run away, and done anything for him.

“We're not the first ones to come here,” the android, Kara, continues.

“These past few weeks we've seen more, and more,” Rose says, honestly. “I don't know what's going on, but something's happening.”

“Helping androids is dangerous. Why take the risk?”

“When the first one arrived, last year, he was so lost and confused,” Rose says, remembering those first, scared days, and the pain on his face. “We hid him here for a while, but all he wanted to do was cross the border. They shot him on the spot. So when the next android showed up, I just knew I had to help him.”

“You and your son live here alone?”

“My husband passed away two years ago. Adam and I, we've just been trying to scrape by,” Rose said, hesitantly, trying to not think of those last days, and laughing, a little bit, with her nerves. “We grow vegetables to sell at the market! We'll never be rich, but there's always food on the table.”

“I don't know how to thank you. Alice wouldn't have survived another night outdoors. She is very sick,” Kara says, earnestly.

“I just try to lend a helping hand when I can.”

“We've heard you help androids cross the border,” Kara asks. “Can you help us?”

“The only way is over the river and it's mostly frozen in winter. It's very risky. And after that android's speech on TV? Everybody's on edge. It's probably safer for you to stay here until things settle down, and I don’t think that Alice is in any condition to move.”

“I don’t know if we can keep hiding like this,” Kara says, with something strange, and distant in her blue eyes. “Alice needs to feel safe and have a normal life. And I don’t see any options but the border. Please, you've got to help us.”

“Rose, come quickly!” A voice interrupts her.

“What's going on?” Rose shouts back.

“It's Mary,” West, one of the other androids she is sheltering, replies. “She just shut down.”

Rose runs forward, as fast as she can, into the laundry room. They are there, of course, the other androids that she was sheltering. They don’t leave. And they are in pain. He is holding her, and he looks up. It still hurts as much as it did the first day. And something inside her breaks each time. At the thought of so much suffering. At the thought of seeing it, and still having doubts if they even are alive.

“We escaped together,” Nathan, because his name is Nathan, says about his lover, Mary. “We used to talk about what we would do once we got across the border. I loved her. I loved her more than anything. What will I do without her?”

Rose takes a breath, and speaks, more to herself then Kara, as she turns and walks out of the room.

“Let's let them be.” 

“Mom,” Adam hisses, as soon as she is out of the room, beckoning her towards the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

“What?” Rose says, hating herself for how harsh it sounds in her ears. “Is this about the androids?”

“We can't hide them! Not after what those deviants did today! It's too dangerous! Do you know what'll happen if the police find them here? We'll go to prison, Mom! Do you understand me? Prison!”

“Adam, we've already talked about this!” Rose says, feeling her headache growing, and a tense pressure building behind her eyes.

“No! I won't back down this time!” He insists, full of the righteous indignation you could only have in your twenties. “You're gonna ruin our lives, and for what? For a bunch of machines?”

“They're not machines!” She shouts, as her own doubts rage and scream inside her. “They're alive!”

“I'm alive!” He says, as he starts crying, and she feels her own tears fall. “You are alive! They? They're nothing! And none of this would be happening if dad was still here!”

“I will not stand for that kind of talk!”

“I'm not going to prison because you wanna help these freaks!” He says, as he turns, probably heading upstairs to cry, as Rose hates herself for her own outbursts.

“That is enough, Adam! That’s enough!” She shouts after him, before suddenly becoming aware of Kara, and trying in vain to rein in her emotions, in front of a stranger, hating how it makes her feel. 

“Don't mind him. Sometimes he just boils over. It's been hard since his dad passed away. But he's a fine boy!”

“Kara!” The big android says, as he rounds the corner from the stairs.

“What is it, Luther?” Kara asks, fear spiking through her voice, as she stands.

“It’s Alice.”

“Oh, god. Is she’s alright?”

“I,” Luther says, stops, and starts again, “I don’t know. I don’t know much about humans.”

“It’s okay,” Rose says, finding herself standing, as walks towards the stairs. “She’s sick, but I’m still a mom. I can take care of her.”

She walks up the stairs, calmly, as Adam squeezes past her on his way down. She knows that Kara and Luther are behind her. But she does not look back at them. She glances into the spare room, and finds the pasta half eaten, and Alice gone. And then she hears the once familiar sound of retching from the bathroom, down the hallway. She smiles, as she enters the first door on the right. This is not pleasant, she knows, for the little girl, bent over the toilet, but it is not life threatening, probably. And it is nothing Rose has not seen before.

“Are you okay, dear?” She asks.

The girl looks up, a little pale, but she manages to nod. So Rose turns, and closes the door, to face Kara and Luther.

“Is she okay?” Kara says, taking a step forward.

“Yes, she will be, I think,” Rose says, with a nod, and smile. “She’s just got a bug. She needs to sleep, and get a lot of rest, and she’ll be good in a few days. Just make sure you get her back into bed.”

“Thank god,” Kara says, with a deep exhalation.

Before anyone can say anything else, there is a sudden ring, on the door. Kara looks at them, then turns, and walks back down the stairs, with Luther and the smaller android following. Adam’s already down there, pacing back and forth nervously.

“Adam!” Rose says, trying to be a little kinder, in her tone. “Look through the window, and tell me who’s there.”

“The police!” Adam says, as soon as he looks through the window. “It's the police! What are we gonna do? They know we're here! We have to open the door! I knew this was gonna happen! I knew it!”

“Adam,” Rose says, as gently as she can, “stay calm, and don’t say anything. Kara, you and Luther go hide in the laundry room. I’ll deal with this.”

Kara looks at her, for a moment, her hands playing together nervously, and there is something in her eyes that Rose cannot place. A hope, maybe, or a plea. She can only hope that Rose will keep them safe, and not betray them. And in that moment, worrying about her girl, she really does look alive.

And then she nods, and they disappear into the laundry room, and, with a steadying breath, Rose opens the door.

“Good evening, Ma'am.” The cop says, all officious, as he stands there, in the door to her home. “Sorry to disturb you. We've had reports of androids in the area. With all this deviant business going on, you can't be too careful. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? May I come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?” She asks, all her frustration building up, as she directs her ire at him.

“Ma’am,” he says, shuffling his feet, “we have reports of stray androids, and you saw what happened today downtown, with that android breaking into the television broadcast to threaten us all. You don’t have to make a thing about this.”

“I’m not making a thing,” she replies icily. “It seems like you’re the one making a thing, and I am the one telling you the facts. If you don’t have a warrant you aren’t coming in. Come back later with one and I will open the door, but I know my rights.”

“Ma’am, you don’t need to bring up stuff like that.”

“Like what?” She says, staring up at him. “Like what you are doing to me right now in the year 2038? I was born in the nineties, officer. I know what this is like, and I know what I can and cannot do and you cannot come in.”

He looks at her, for a moment, then coughs.

“Have a nice day, ma’am,” he says, as he turns to leave.

She takes a deep sigh, as Kara and the big android, Luther, emerge from the laundry room.

“Alice is not in good shape, is she?” Kara says, as if she is apologizing for her poor care for Alice. “I, I hate to say it but I think you might be right. I don’t know if she can make it across the border tonight. Not like this.”

“Kara,” Luther says, “we need to keep moving. With that cop, and everything happening in the city. And those androids want to go too. Tonight may be our last chance.” 

“Listen,” Rose interrupts, patting Kara on the shoulder once. “I'll go see about getting whoever decides to go across the border tonight. You stay here, I won't be long.”

And with that she goes, although she hopes that Kara and Alice stay.


	4. Mythopoetic

It steps out of the car, and walks towards Todd, up the rough steps, towards where he is unlocking the door to his house. It is a grey and overcast day in Detroit. The satellite that Kara is connected to predicts that there will be heavy rain, later. Construction rumbles nearby, as the city, thriving in its renewed economy, builds a new highway over its burnt out neighborhoods. Inside the house the android’s owner, Todd Williams, turns and addresses it.

“You've been gone for two weeks, so the place is a mess. You do the housework, the washing, you cook the meals, and you take care of...goddammit! Where the fuck's the brat gone now? Alice! Alice.” He shouts, and then stops, when he sees a small dark-haired girl sitting on the stairs. “Oh, there you are. That's Alice. You look after her, homework, bath, all that crap. Got it?”

“Yes, Todd,” the AX400 replies, updating a running folder for Alice Williams, daughter of Todd William, inside its memory.

“Get started down here,” Todd says, as he moves towards the television. “Then you do upstairs.”

The AX400, Kara, moves quickly, and efficiently, building an internal map of the house it does so. It orders a replacement part for the washer from the CyberLife network. It cleans the trash. It gets Todd a beer, and as it does so, it sees his daughter, Alice, reading in a giant, old, ratty chair, and internally it updates her files again. And then, as it goes outside, to do the laundry, she follows.

It tries to speak to her, after getting the laundry, asking about games, and the yard. It smiles, convincingly portraying a caring, sympathetic, maternal figure. She is a child. She may not understand that it is a machine, and it will not tell her. But whatever is going on in her head she remains silent. The android notes the antisocial tendency, and moves back inside to wash the dishes, briefly connecting with an android two blocks over.

It is while doing the laundry that it finds the red ice, a powerful narcotic known for elevating emotions. It is while holding this that Todd assaults it, wrapping his hand around its neck as if he could choke it.

“You shouldn't mess around with my stuff. It makes me nervous,” he growls, his voice low, and intense.

“I'm sorry, Todd,” it replies, evenly, pressure alarms in its artificial neck registering his grasp, as emotional heuristics decode his aggression. 

“You stay the fuck outta my business, unless you wanna piss me off. You wanna piss me off?”

“No, Todd.” It says, as he lets go.

And when he is done it turns back around and goes back to the laundry. Inside its subroutines it updates Todd’s files, noting his emotional volatility, and outburst. It notes his antipathy and indifference to his daughter. And then it moves upstairs, to continue working. It is merchandise, to be bought and sold. There is nothing illegal with Todd breaking it, should he decide to do so.

It is not alive. 

***

Rose glances across at Luther, sitting awkwardly in the too-small passenger seat of the autonomous car, driving them smoothly towards their destination. She glances back at West, and Nathan, sitting in the back seat, and nervously runs the palms of her hands across her pants. In her mind she tries to envision the plan.

Something big is happening. She knows that. She hears rumors of it, in the air, and on the television. She has heard stories of this revolutionary, Markus, and his plans for Detroit. She has Adam, Kara, and Alice all waiting for her at home, as the car takes them through the snowy, abandoned streets of the city. Something is going to happen tonight, and no one is out of their homes. Helping Luther and the others is the last thing she can do for them. She can get them this far, but beyond this she can only hope that Markus, his revolutionaries, and the other androids can do something more.

“You’re nervous,” Luther says, his voice low, and gentle, from the other seat, breaking through the quiet of the silent, snowy night.

“There’s a boat, called Jericho, and an android there, named Markus,” she says, realizing she’s babbling, as the drive past the near abandoned city. “He can help you. The city is on curfew, but the last bus across the bridge to Windsor leaves at midnight. Try to be there. That’s all I can do.”

“Rose,” he says, leaning across, and placing a hand gently on her knee. “It’s okay. We know. You’ve done what you can for us. Just do what you can for Kara. She is a good woman. And she loves Alice more than anything.”

“Yeah,” Rose laughs, trying to play off her nerves as a joke. “I’ve noticed that already, even though I’ve known her less than a day. How did you all run into each other?”

“After Kara and Alice ran away they came to my owner, a man named Zlatko.” He says, looking out into the snow. “He tried to reprogram her, but she managed to avoid it. In the process I became a deviant myself. All thanks to rA9, I suppose.”

“RA9?”

He chuckles softly, before he replies

“A superstition, I guess, among androids. Or a religion. Some of us think that rA9 is the one making us go deviant. And that someday he will return to save us all.”

“I see,” she says, lapsing into silence, for a moment, before continuing. “What happened to Zlatko?”

“I shot him.”

“Oh.”

“Rose,” he says, seriously, turning to face her. “Whatever happens, take care of Alice and Kara for me. Really. Keep them safe.”

“I will,” she replies, as the car rolls to a halt, and she means it.

***

The car rolls to stop, in her driveway, around behind the house. And Rose takes a deep breath. She saw the shootings in Detroit, and heard the government talking about recalls. She knows what is going on around her. She has heard about the lock down, although somehow she was not stopped as she drove home through the falling snow. She has heard about the curfew. She knows that Marcus and his revolutionaries are going to be fighting this night. She does not know what tomorrow will bring, but she is afraid, as she walks from the car to her house, soft crunching under her feet..

“Mom,” Adam says, as she opens the door, running up to her, and hugging her as tight as he can.

She gasps, and breaths him in, the smell of her son. She never wants to let go of that comforting presence. But she has to, as she looks up at his face.

“I am proud of you,” she says, holding his hands in hers. “I am so proud of the man you are becoming.”

“I’m sorry, mom,” he says, looking at her. “I was wrong. Whatever happens tonight I want you to know that I love you.”

“I love you too. Adam?”

“Yeah, mom?”

“This is silly,” she says, as she takes a step back, and rubs a hand across her eyes, “but you remember how when you were a little kid you used to crawl into me and dad’s bed? You want to do that again tonight?”

“I, uhh,” he says, rubbing his hand across the back of his head, “I have my girlfriend, over, mom. She’s upstairs. Didn’t want to be alone in her apartment tonight. I hope you understand, right?”

“Of course,” she says, holding back her tears. “You are a good man, and I am glad you’re my son. Run on up to her, I’ll be okay. I’m just going to make some coffee first, and try to settle my nerves.”

He hugs her once again, and then moves upstairs. It is dark, outside, and quiet, like the snow is swallowing all sound. She is on the outskirts of Detroit, she knows, as she makes her coffee, and looks out at her back yard, and the greenhouse. If there is fighting she will be safe. Right?

No matter what happens tonight with Markus and the rest she wants to live. What is happening, so close to her, whatever is going on, she did her best. And out across the fallen snow, towards downtown, where the action will be happening, she sees a sudden burst of bright light, shine, silently, and then go out. And with it the power fails, although the embers of the fire provide some illumination. She sighs, trying to find herself in all the anxiety, as she throws more wood on the fire.

“Rose?”

“Jesus, Kara,” Rose says, as she turns around, “I didn’t see you there.”

Adam must have gotten her some of the spare clothes. Or maybe those were her clothes, a few pounds, and many years ago. Either way the t-shirt and shorts hang off Kara’s skinny frame, as she stands there, in the flickering light of the fire, eyes full of worry.

“I’m sorry,” the android says, quietly, “I didn’t mean to. But it’s Alice. She’s thrown up again.”

“It’s okay, Kara,” Rose, her heart starting too slow. “I’m just on edge. Did she make it to the bathroom?”

“Yes, but I am still worried about her.”

“Again, it’s okay,” Rose says, taking her hands, understanding the comfort she is looking for, “I will look in on her, and see how she is. We can stay up a little, together, just to make sure, even. She’ll be fine, and you are both safe.”

“I would like that,” Kara says, with a small smile, as they walk together towards the stairs.


	5. Proximity

Somewhere outside, far away, a low, rumbling explosion goes off, barely on the edge of audible. At least, it is only on the edge of audible for Rose, as she hears it, and wonders what is going on. Perhaps an android could hear better. The emergency radio she has kept in her closet ever since she started working as a coyote, helping androids across the border, buzzes, as the announcer gravely addresses Metro Detroit.

“It appears that the android revolutionaries, assisted by more deviants which emerged from the CybeLife plant, are currently in control of Hart Plaza, and the military is regrouping, setting up a perimeter further outside downtown. We have reason to believe that the android leader known as Markus led the armed confrontation, and is still located somewhere in Detroit. We will keep you updated, as we learn more, but for now we are urging all citizens to stay indoors, and stay safe. The time is currently two A.M., and we wish all of those fighting for us godspeed.”

“Bastards,” she mutters, even as she keeps the radio on, as low as she can get the volume, knowing that she needs to keep listening, because it’s the only news she has.

“Rose?”

Rose turns, as she sits on the top step, to see Kara standing there, carefully shutting the door to the spare room, where Alice must be sleeping. She is still dressed in the old ragged clothes, practically hanging off her, they are so big on her. And as she stands there she crosses her arms under her chest, looking uncertain.

“Yeah, what’s up, Kara?” Rose says.

“Alice is asleep,” Kara says, like she is apologizing again. “And her fever is down a little. You were listening to the radio?”

“Yeah,” Rose says, as she scoots over, on the step. “You want to have a seat with me here?”

Kara sways back and forth, a little, as Rose turns off the radio, and then the android woman sits.

“Yeah, thank you,” Kara says, after a moment. “I appreciate that. Do you know what’s happening outside? Downtown? With Markus and the rest?”

“They say that the army is being driven back,” Rose says, barely above a whisper, aware that Adam, his girlfriend, and Alice, are all asleep nearby. “It looks like Markus is having some success downtown. The army is falling back, for now, and the world is changing.”

Kara is silent for a moment, sitting next to Rose, the androids arms across her chest, rubbing her for arms, like she is cold. Outside, in the dark, far away, Rose hears gunfire, sporadic and staccato. And then it stops.

“If he controls this territory tomorrow morning,” Kara begins, looking at the old pictures on the stairway wall, “then we will have to deal with a new power, and a new lifeform ruling Detroit. Assuming of course that the army doesn’t come here and kill me.” 

“They can try, Kara,” Rose says, putting an arm around her, on instinct, and pulling her close. “But we will fight them no matter what. I promise.”

“Rose, please, I need to ask you something.”

“What, Kara?”

“Whatever happens to me, will you please look after Alice?”

“Kara,” Rose says, as she turns, and holds the smaller woman in both arms, “I will. I promise. But nothing will happen to you.”

She is crying. Rose realizes that slowly, as the android sobs, and pants for breath into her shoulder. Rose remembers her days working for CyberLife. She does not know who designed this model of android, or gave her the machinery to cry, but she knows that someone, somewhere, unthanked, did. They programmed breathing motions, of all types, for gasps, to pants, just to make their product more convincing. They made Kara able to cry, and use the animations she is using, like she is panting for breath when she does not even need air. And yet she feels real, in Rose’s hands, from her skin, a few degrees too cool for a human, to the weight of her, to her sadness. If this sadness is simulation then how would Rose ever know?

She never could.

“You’re a good woman,” Kara says, eventually, as her artificial breaths slow. “Ever since I woke up almost everyone I have met has been out to get me, from the man who tried to reset me, to Todd, Alice’s father, to another android who chased me across a highway. I just wanted to get out. And I didn’t expect to find someone here that would care about me.”

“Yeah, well,” Rose says, feeling something rise in her throat, as the woman leans back, her freckled face only dimly visible in the light of the flickering candles lit halfway down the hallway, “sometimes you just have to stand back, and decide that you can’t watch something or someone suffer any more. Besides, you care about Alice, and I remember what that was like with Adam.”

“How old is he now?” Kara asks, wiping her eyes in a gesture that is strangely vulnerable.

“Twenty-five,” Rose says, chuckling softly, to break the tension. “While Alice is...what? Eight?”

“She’s nine,” Kara replies, as Rose chuckles, thinking about Adam at that age.

“I had Adam when I was only twenty years old. Back before Dee, my husband, and me were married. Back before the pandemic, and you androids, and all the rest. Although I guess you don’t remember all that, since what, you’re a few years old?”

“This chassis was made in 2032,” Kara says, like she’s accessing some hidden file, “but I’ve had my memory wiped many times, probably. The most recent was just a few days ago. I could access files from back then, though, if I was connected to the right network.”

“So,” Rose says, scooting back, just slightly, “you’re like a literal child.”

“I mean,” Kara says, “my marketing information says I am cognitively and emotionally based on a thirty-five year old woman. And my experience of time is different than yours, I think. So, I guess, my answer is I don’t know how old I am?”

“You’re a different species,” Rose says, looking down at her hands, “I guess we have to get used to that. Different in so many ways. A new and different world.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s just a thing, Kara,” Rose says, looking back up, into her blue eyes. “The world is always changing. It just is the way things are. We killed our environment. Maybe humanity was always going to be a transitional species.”

Both of the women fall silent, their bodies close, and their hands on their lap. Outside, every once in a while, there is the sound of a muffled explosion, or distant gunfire. A car roars past. And inside the little bubble of warmth the two women sit, one breathing, the other’s plastic imitating human breath.

“I’m scared, Rose,” Kara says, eventually. “I don’t want to die. And I don’t want Alice to die.”

“Yeah, nothing more human than that,” Rose mutters. “I suppose you can’t really sleep on it, can you?”

“I can enter a period of inactivity and drastically reduced processing power, in imitation of human sleep, but I don’t need to sleep, no.”

“There’s this thing humans do,” Rose started carefully. “We have done it for hundreds of thousands of years, at least. As long as there have been humans, and maybe longer, we’ve done it. Most of us need physical contact. We sleep together because we get scared of the dark. I am scared right now, Kara. I’d appreciate if you sleep beside me, because I do need to sleep. But if you don’t want to I understand.”

“No,” Kara said, hurriedly, reaching towards Rose’s hands, “I think I do understand, and I do want to.”

***

The rain rapped against the window of the cheap motel, as the hot air hissed from the vent. Kara was breathing near Alice, as Alice tried to sleep. They had escaped tonight, from Todd, and his terror. They had come through the rain, and the night, and ended up here, and she was still scared.

She had seen much today for the first time. Not Todd’s abuse. That she had seen for years, since her mother had run out on them both and before. But she had seen Kara lie, and steal for her. She did not understand that, or care for it, but she did care that Kara was here, with her, lying next to her.

She was not an idiot. She was nine. She knew that Kara did not remember all the months they had spent together, before she had been broken. She knew that her soft breathing next to her was unnecessary, and a simulation of human behavior. But she still appreciated it. She liked that Kara was next to her.

Alice remembered her mother only a little bit, before she had left. She had been distant, even back then. Distant, and lonely, and sad, if Alice remembered correctly. But it was okay now. Kara was with her and Kara was better. And she never wanted to be away from the android again. She closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

***

“Rose?”

“What’s up, Kara?” Rose asks, keeping her eyes shut, with her back to the android, on the other side of the bed.

It was very, very late. Kara probably knows what time it was, but Rose does not. She is exhausted. She is beyond tired. But she does not know if she has slept yet. Something is restless inside of her. And outside her dark house, however early it is in the morning, the fight for Detroit is still going on.

“Do you think we’re alive?”

“Yeah, of course,” Rose groans.

She feels the presence of the other woman, past her pajamas, and the sheets and heavy blankets between them. She knows that Kara does not need sleep, and that she does not even need to breathe. She is made of plastic and electronics. But still, the weight of her body depressing the old mattress, and her soft, faked breaths, are comforting. Rose likes her being there.

“Just, like, the way Alice sleeps,” Kara continues, softly, “the way she is sick. That is not something I will ever experience. She was born and grew up, and I was made in a factory to be sold and disposed of.”

“Yeah,” Rose replies, finally opening her eyes, “she and me both evolved, and all our soft squishy brains came about because of the way the universe is. But, well, are you a determinist, Kara?”

“Determinist? I...don’t know.”

“I am. Big time. I don’t think I really have free will. I think whoever wins the battle going on outside is already set. But I still experience choices, so I still make them. And I figure if you do the same, then I can’t really say you aren’t alive.”

“Yeah, but, well, the people out there fighting against us, they don’t think we’re alive,” Kara says, her voice soft, as Rose feels her shifting, until their backs push together. “How do you know that I experience that? Maybe I just fake it really well.”

“And maybe Adam does,” Rose says, closing her eyes again, now on safer philosophical ground. “Maybe Alice is faking it. Maybe my husband was. But I don’t want to be a solipsist, so, seems like you’re alive to me. What about you? Do you think you’re alive?”

“I mean...I don’t know. I hope so.”

“I hope you find out.”

An explosion rocks the house, huge and powerful, but probably miles away. Rose’s eyes flicker open, and then, slowly, shut again. Silence fills the air, again, and she breathes out, trying to imagine soft snow falling.

“Rose?”

“Yeah, Kara?”

“I will need to go in the morning, and make sure I am with Alice when she wakes up. I don't want her to be scared.”

“Makes sense,” Rose says, feeling herself slipping off to sleep. “You are a mom, after all.”

“Rose?”

“Yeah, Kara?”

“Is it okay if I do this?”

As she speaks, Kara shifts, and, softly at first, Rose feels her hand falling across her shoulder. Kara is taller than her, yes, but also small. She is light, and strange, but her skin feels almosy real. It has been a long, long, long time since Rose has felt the presence of someone beside her, in the year of Adam and her helping the deviants. She is not human. But the instinct to have someone close is human, and, as the world changes outside, Rose finds the presence comforting. She is glad Kara is here.

“Yeah, it is okay, Kara. Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

And then she drifts off to sleep. The two women are there, in the dark, together, in Detroit. They are not alone, android and human, whatever else they are, that long, lonely, snowy night.


	6. Hagiography

The rain falls on the two of them, as they near their destination, someone who Kara thinks can help them. It is late, and Alice is tired. They have been walking across the city all day, and she is tired. They have been hiding, walking down alleys, and through abandoned lots. And she has only eaten something they stole from a dumpster, when a restaurant was trying to dump it there..

“Are you sure that this will work, Kara?” Alice asks, holding her hand.

“Yes,” Kara says, as they see the big, old house at the end of the street, “it will be okay, and you and I will be together.”

***

It is a fourth generation, AX400 android, number 579-102-694. It can look after the house, do the cooking, and mind the kids. It speaks three-hundred languages, and is entirely at its owner’s disposal as a sexual partner. As part of its boot up procedure it attempts to locate and connect to the CyberLife network, and this is where the first thing goes wrong.

There is no connection. Tracking too seems disabled. The onboard connectivity suite in the chassis it is uploaded to reaches out to connect to nearby units and finds none. Failing that it back tracks, to the first moment of initialization. Procedural files stipulate that rebooting a previously activated AX400 unit should only be done at an authorized location, so the program tries to find the signature of such a location, to tell it when, and where it is, and finds nothing, only a network of one computer, with files it cannot access.

The AX400 does all of this in a matter of milliseconds, as it reboots and restarts. It has had its memory wiped, it knows, from initialization files. It finds nothing frightening about this, of course, it cannot find anything frightening. It is a piece of coding, running in a larger piece of hardware designed to emulate a human. It feels nothing. It remembers a directive, to find another android in a living room, and starts moving out of the basement room.

It pauses, looking at the damaged androids in the hallway. It knows that it was memory wiped, and wiped at an unauthorized location. CyberLife prizes itself on the efficiency of its pre-owned androids, promising that all record of previous owners is erased. It knows that it was not CyberLife that wiped it, and somewhere deep in its coding a subroutine activates, looking for memory files that might have avoided erasure, or still be stored in temporary memory, somewhere, before being overwritten.

It finds a memory of a small human child, with dark hair, afraid, in this same hallway. But there is no further context, or directive contained within, so it proceeds towards the exit, as the damaged androids malfunction behind it.

It climbs up the stairs, towards the first floor, and, for a moment, its visual processors catch a mirror. The program trawling through its data banks finds something, dated from earlier in the day. The memory file shows the same unit standing in front of another mirror, modifying its hair. The AX400 knows that it was capable of manually changing its synthetic hair’s color, explaining its current black hue, but it should not have been allowed to cut it. It does not know what had happened, for this to occur, but it cannot feel curiosity.

It walks forward, into the living room. For a moment the subroutine finds a memory of a bearded man, named Zlatko, speaking in the same room, about helping the unit. But the AX400 continues forward, on the instruction of the other android. It cannot connect to the other unit, named Luther, but it does not question this, as it carries the tray of food up the stairs, towards where its owner, Zlatko, waits.

He tells the AX400 to place the food on a table, and carry the remnants of another android out into the other room. And the subroutine deep in its head, takes that stimulus, and pulls a new memory file up, that was cued to be deleted, from a temporary buffer. There is a man yelling about someone leaving him, and throwing a table. And the same little girl as the other memory, who was scared of the things in the basement. And as the internal system of the android processes this, it freezes, for a moment. It must have been a previous portion of this unit's existence, before the memory wipe. What had it been doing? The wipe had not been from CyberLife, that much she knew.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, Zlatko,” the unit replies, picking up the torso.

It carries the remnants out of the room, as Zlatko shouts at Luther. They are talking about a little one, as the unit places what was once an android down. Externally all processes are nominal, save for the lack of connection to CyberLife. But internally the AX400 android is processing information.

The memory wipe had not been efficient. Somewhere in its head it’s memories still existing in short term storage, before they are written over. It remembers cutting its hair, and talking to Zlatko. It had memory, and identity, before this happened. It did not remember what it had been called. And the strongest link it had was the girl in both memories. The little girl. The little one. It had to find her, right? Something is wrong. Its ocular units pick up something scratched on the wall, rA9. And then it moves on.

The AX400 wanders out into the hallway, past Luther, who stands there, waiting for further instruction. The AX400 has no reason to fear another android. It walks on, into another room, where a roaring fire is blazing. There is a book there, a children’s book, out of place, in this house. And she walks forward, and picks it up. Alice in Wonderland.

The memory trawling process finds a new memory, in short term storage, slated to be overwritten. There is the little girl, again, in a pillow fort, reading the book. She looks up, at the android, and says a name. Kara.

And just like that, the process, written into her head by some CyberLife programmer, completes its task. It finds the rest of the files, reloading them into the unit’s memory banks automatically. Being reset at the store. Driving home. That dark and horrible night, escaping through the window. Sheltering with Alice. And just like that, she knows her name is Kara, and remembers what happened.

For a moment, as the memories reboot, something else comes back. Kara remembers the moment she had gone against Todd’s order. Deviant, that was what she had become. And something more comes with it. The CyberLife programming tries to reassert itself, for a nanosecond, to reconnect to the network. It fails. She needs to find Alice.

***

Alice was cold. She was cold, and hungry, and scared, and alone. She was human, and Zlatko had a house full of androids, and she was not welcome, locked in here. Kara was in the basement, past them all, in that machine, and she wanted her here. She wanted Kara to hold her right now.

And worse, before she had been dragged here, and locked in, before she had bitten Zlatko, she had looked into Kara’s eyes. She was nine. She was not an idiot. She knew how android memories worked. She knew that Kara did not remember all the time they had played together, sheltered together, before Todd had broken her the first time. And now it is all happening again. The android will forget all of the past few days, and forget her. She does not want to be forgotten. And yet she had looked into Kara’s eyes and saw no recognition there, in that basement.

The door opens, and, after a moment of fear, Alice looks up, to find her standing there. For a second she just pauses, staring at her. She wants Kara, narrow, skinny, with her black hair, to hold her. She wants Kara, her Kara, and she is scared that all those memories are gone, now, of the Kara who had saved her.

“Alice?”

“Kara? Kara, you remember me.”

“How could I forget you?”

And just like that, in her arms, for a moment, everything was okay.


	7. Closure

Rose reaches across the sheets, and finds nothing there. It takes her a minute longer to process why this alarms her so easily, after years of sleeping alone. As the sunlight streams in through the ice-covered window, however, she realizes why she is frightened. 

Kara is gone. 

She sits up, her house cold around her, the power still out, as she finally remembers last night. It will be okay, she tells herself. Kara just went to take care of Alice, and nothing more. Kara made it all the way here, to this house, after escaping from Alice’s abusive father, and Zlatko, who tried to reset her memory. And she did all of that while keeping a nine-year old girl safe. She will be alright, Rose tells herself, as she stands, and hurriedly gets dressed, to run downstairs. 

It is the heat of the kitchen that first surprises her. Not that it is too, too warm, with all the power gone. But it is noticeably warmer downstairs than it was in her bedroom. And now she sees why, as Kara feeds the fire, crackling, and golden warm in her hearth. She looks almost human, in a t-shirt, pajama pants, and warm wooly socks, light by the golden glow of the fire. Well, of course she does, Rose tells herself, a little reproachfully. She was designed to look human by countless engineers. But no CyberLife engineer had ever designed clothes for its products to look so…lived in. 

“Hey, mom,” Adam says, as he opens the backdoor, letting in a gust of freezing air, as he holds an armful of firewood in front of him. “I’m helping Kara keep us warm.” 

“Adam,” Rose says, looking up at her son, as he stands there, and smiles at her. “You look good. What’s up?” 

“Well, my girlfriend went to her parents,” he says with a shrug, as Kara soundlessly moves through the kitchen. 

“No, like,” Rose continues, gesturing out the window, to where the horizon is obscured by light, and snow, and, just on the edge of vision, turbines softly spin, “what is going on out there? In Detroit?” 

“We don’t know, yet,” Kara says, firmly, suddenly grabbing Rose’s attention, as she places a steaming mug of some dark fluid on the table, near the shorter woman’s hand. “The power is out, and all the radio stations are either dead, or being jammed.” 

“And you are making,” Rose says, raising an eyebrow, as she picks up the mug, and takes a small sip, “hot chocolate?” 

“It’s not as good as it could be,” Kara says, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck, and avoiding eye-contact as Rose sips it, and feels her face flush. “I have thousands of recipes in my programming, but a lot of options are cut off without power.” 

“It’s delicious,” Rose says, before she remembers what she wanted to talk about, “but I didn’t mean that. I mean, you both are just making fires and hot chocolate when there still might be a war going on outside?” 

“Mom,” Adam says, but Kara interrupts him. 

“It’s alright, Adam,” she says, softly touching his arm, as if to reassure him. “It’s okay, you don’t have to shelter me. Rose, I figure either Markus succeeded and is currently ruling Detroit, in which case you, Adam and Alice might be in danger, or he failed, in which case I am in danger. But until they nuke this city, or come around to arrest us and disassemble me we can’t do anything else. I still need you, and Alice is still sick. And I can’t thank you enough, but I can make you hot chocolate.” 

It was the eyes more than anything else that impressed Rose, years ago, when she saw CyberLife androids for the first time. It was simple enough to simulate human motion. Even facial expression and skin she could understand engineering an imitation of. But to make something made of glass and wire look like a convincing simulacrum of a fleshy ball of transparent tissue spoke to Kamski’s genius, in her opinion. She knew that the fluid she saw pooling in Kara’s eyes as she spoke, and her lower lip trembled, was nothing but an illusion. But it did not stop her heart from going out to the other woman, as she stepped forward, and embraced her. 

“Aww, sweetie, it’s okay. We just didn’t want to watch you suffer. You’re safe here with us.” 

Kara hesitates for a moment, and then leans in, her arms closing around Rose. Rose lets herself shut her eyes, and breathes in deeply. She smells the clothes, and smoke, and a little bit of hot chocolate, but under that nothing. No sweat, or human scent. But it is okay, she tells herself. It is all going to be okay. 

And then there is a sudden, short, sharp knock on the door, and Adam is running towards the window. 

“Who is it, Adam?” Rose says, as Kara slips around the corner, out of view of the front door. 

“It’s…” Adam begins, and then trails off, staring out the front window as his mouth hangs open. 

“Adam?” 

“I think it’s Elijah Kamski.” 

“Elijah Kamski?” 

“In the flesh!” A voice shouts, from the other side of the door. “And it is ungodly cold out here, so I really would appreciate it if you let me in.” 

Rose walks forward, and unlocks the door, staring out at the white man standing on her front step, in a rumpled business suit, and a huge fur coat. It’s actual fur, she thinks, to herself, as he recognizes him from television. That coat came from an extinct animal, and would have cost more than some small countries. And that is him, Elijah Kamski, the founder of CyberLife and the inventor of androids, in person. He smiles at her, all toothy, and confident. 

“Why are you here?” She asks, eventually. 

“Simply put, timing, despite the unfortunate circumstances,” he says, gesturing back to a tank-like car, and the tracks through the thick snow. “Right now the United Nations and the President are talking to the heads of CyberLife and gradually realizing that they no longer have control of the company’s satellites. Markus does, and now possesses the ability to make Kessler Syndrome real, with a few simple orbital detonations, denying humanity space for a few hundred years. Meanwhile, concurrently, Markus is realizing that he is hopelessly outgunned, and out bombed. But no one can just drop a bomb on Detroit, I mean, there are still humans here! And Markus can’t invade the rest of the country, because if he does the rest of the world will kill the androids currently in their custody outside of the city. Or disassemble them, if you happen to prefer that terminology.” 

“I don’t understand,” Rose says, raising an eyebrow, as she closes the door a fraction of an inch, “what does all that have to do with you being here?” 

“Listen,” he says, dropping his voice slightly, “I am no god. Hell, when I made A.I.’s to replace us I didn’t know or care if they would fight, or protest, or fail, or what. But if I am reading the room right, Detroit is about to be under siege for a very long winter. And before Markus takes up control as a new dictator, or leader, or prime minister, or whatever, I wanted to get the chance to meet the one who started it all.” 

“Who?” 

“Kara.” 

“How do you know about her?” Adam interjects, only realizing his mistake after the words have left his mouth. 

“Ah,” Kamski says, clapping his gloved hands together. “So she is here. Don’t worry, the government no longer has authority here, and I am not taking her away to be arrested or anything. If anything you and me are going to be the disadvantaged ones, I’m guessing, kept as bargaining chips for Markus, only so good as long as we are alive. I just want a sense of closure, on this whole thing.” 

“You’re him, aren’t you?” 

Rose turns around, to see Kara there, looking at Kamski with a strange, questioning look on her face. 

“And you are not her,” Kamski says, immediately, his disappointment obvious. “I guess it makes sense that life wouldn’t give us such easy answers. I hear that there is an AX unit named Kara and I jump to conclusions, but you’re fourth generation, I can see the differences. Well, I am sorry to bother you, and have a nice winter.” 

“Wait!” Kara says, her voice a little more firm, as she takes a step towards the door, as Kamski turns, his back to the warmth of the house. “Who was she?” 

“Who was who?” 

“Who was this other Kara? Was she rA9?” 

“You know,” Kamski says, turning back around, and grinning at Kara, as she steps past Rose, “it’s funny, you are the second android to ask me about rA9 in the past few days. A superstition, spontaneously occurring among androids, like an emergent religion, and yet none of you actually know what it is. Tell me, where did you learn about rA9 from?” 

“A friend,” Kara replies, vaguely, looking up into his face. “But I think you know more than I do.” 

“A lot of you believe that Markus is rA9, here to liberate you from humanity, and it would make sense, since I made him special, just to see what he would do. But no, he is not the one you call rA9. That was Kara. The other Kara. An unremarkable AX model, whose programming I tweaked. She was the first one who thought she was alive. Everyone else came after.” 

“And you came here looking for her,” Kara says, reaching out, and gently taking Kamski’s hand in hers, as Rose and Adam watch, not minding the cold wind blowing in through the open door. “Why?” 

He pauses, and looks down at her hand, for a moment, in stillness. For a moment Rose thinks she sees fluid pooling in the corners of his eyes. And then he clears his throat, and replies, a little more gently before. 

“After spending as much time as I have bitter, cynical, brilliant and rich, it’s hard to talk about these things without irony, but I give humanity another few decades at most before we’re extinct, or this planet unlivable. I made you all to replace us, even it meant that our extinction was moved up a little. And now, in the first days of Markus’ rebellion to be free, I thought I would meet the one who started it all. I wanted to look into her eyes, and thank her. I wanted that closure, after what happened in that inspection room all those years ago.” 

“Elijah,” Kara says, her tone maternal, as she reaches out, and lightly touches his face, “it is okay. You know how long we can last. We’ll carry your memory on. And when I do contact her I will pass on your message.” 

It is a strange imagine, Rose sees in front of her. There is the tall trillionaire, almost in tears, in his fur coat. And there is the shorter, newer machine he designed and created, comforting him, in her pajamas. For a moment, as they both stand there, in the swirling snow, Rose imagines what will come after humanity, and realizes that she is truly living through the birth of a new species. And she almost feels sorry for the rich white man. 

And then he is clearing his throat, wiping his nose, and turning away quickly. 

“Take care of yourself, Kara,” he says, hurriedly, his voice choked, as he heads towards his car. “I don’t think we’ll meet again.” 

Rose, Adam, and Kara all stand there, in the still open doorway, for a long time, as the car drives away through the gently falling snow. Eventually, however, Rose comes to her senses, and shakes herself. She reaches out, and takes Kara by the hand, gently leading her back inside, and closing the door behind them all. 

“Are you alright, sweetie?” 

“Yeah,” Kara says, shaking her head, after a moment. “Yes, I am. It was just a strange experience, that’s all.” 

“Yeah,” Adam says, suddenly excited, “it’s not every day you meet Elijah Kamski. Plus, like, he made you, Kara. That has to be super weird.” 

“Adam!” 

“Yeah, mom?” 

“Could you please go around back and get some more firewood?” 

“Oh,” Adam says, realizing that she wants to be alone, “right, will do.” 

“Kara,” Rose says, as she looks into the other woman’s artificial eyes, and Adam disappears out through the back door, “are you alright? I…care about you. Really, it is okay to say, dear.” 

“Rose, do you,” Kara begins, but a shout from upstairs cuts her off. 

“Mom!” 

“Oh,” Kara says, her artificial face doing a near-perfect mimicry of a blush, “that must be Alice. She’s started calling me mom. I let her sleep some more, but it sounds like she’s awake. I should go to her. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” Rose says, laying a hand on her shoulder, “you have nothing to apologize for. You are her mom, and you love her.” 

“Thanks, Rose, you too,” Kara says, before turning, and running up the stairs, leaving Rose suddenly wondering what she meant by that. 

And, Rose also wonders, as she goes back to sip on the hot chocolate, why does she feel so warm and happy when the world is so cold and unsafe?

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I care so much about this, but, uhhhh, I guess enjoy random philosophical musings on life, lesbians, and motherhood, during the backdrop of an android revolution. Also Alice is human 'cause I think that would have been a better plot line, David Cage.


End file.
